Lose My Mind
by angelofthequeers
Summary: Castiel and Dean are cuddling in bed...until Castiel has a violent flashback to his time with Lucifer. But thankfully, Dean's there to help. Post S11, sequel to 'Better Off Dead' and mild wing kink at the end. Trigger warning for panic attacks. Written for masterjediratgrl31, to annoy her by getting in and writing wing kink first.


**Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.**

 **Eh…I've kinda gone off smut. It's just gotten really repetitive to write and read and I only really ever read it for the emotions anyway (also, I've really fallen in love with ace Cas who doesn't want sex). Anyways, my best friend mentioned needing to write wing kink, so I figured I'd annoy her and get in first XD And I really wanted to keep this fic verse going, so…yeah, enjoy!**

Despite not needing to sleep since becoming an angel again after stealing Theo's grace, Castiel often finds it cathartic to relax for a few hours and surrender himself to blissful oblivion. As a human, he had hated sleeping; his loss of control over needing to sleep had signified his utter helplessness and weakness, not to mention the horrific nightmares that had plagued him of all of his 'greatest hits', as Dean would call them (his voice laced with so much sarcasm that Castiel can't help but smile fondly) – from all of the angels he had killed, to becoming God and releasing the Leviathans, and every other wrong act he had committed after.

But as an angel, he finds sleeping peaceful. His enhanced mind can now filter out any images that might try to cross it – whether they be beautiful dreams of himself and Dean and his 'not blood' family or crippling nightmares – and he can sink into the sweet release of darkness under his own volition, instead of being burdened with the necessity of relinquishing control no matter whether or not he wants to.

He only wishes that his mind could perform this task during the day, especially when he is about to suffer from a panic attack or is just having a bad day. But, he supposes, if the cost of ridding himself of these horrors for good is also losing his good memories, then he would rather suffer through these appalling images flashing through his mind. If he has to take the bad along with the good then that is a price he is willing to pay.

But that doesn't stop him from often wishing that he could just end it all, if only so that he can finally find peace from his demons.

"Wish I could see your wings," Dean says suddenly one morning as he's cuddling Castiel in bed (Cuddling. Castiel loves that word, for exactly the same reasons that Dean hates it). Castiel freezes in Dean's arms.

"I – Dean, why would you want to?" he says carefully. Dean looks at Castiel as though he thinks the angel is an idiot, a feeling that Castiel doesn't much like.

"Uh, because they're _you_?" Dean says. "Don't get me wrong, you're hot on the outside. Jimmy was a damn good-looking guy. But I wanna see _you_. I wanna see somethin' of _yours_."

"But why?"

"'Cause…sometimes I get worried. That – that you think that I only like you 'cause your body's attractive. And that's not it. I – I love you, Cas. All of you. The fact that your body's hot's just a bonus."

He winks at Cas, who buries his face in Dean's shoulder to smother a laugh. This right here is one of the many reasons he loves Dean: the man has the uncanniest ability to know just what to say to make him smile.

"I know that you…love all of me," Cas says, the words leaving a strange taste in his mouth. He's still becoming accustomed to the fact that somebody loves him this much; and the fact that it's _Dean_ often makes Castiel wonder if this is all just an elaborate scenario cooked up by Lucifer, just to torture him. The archangel had taken vindictive satisfaction in tormenting Castiel just for being so close to the Winchesters and while Castiel had often had respites in the form of watching 'television' in the 'bunker kitchen' in his mind, it had simply been another form of abuse. These brief periods had only served to exacerbate the pain when Lucifer had returned to torturing him and now he fully understands why damned souls in Hell are often left to rot for months, even years, before their next session of torture; far easier to break somebody when they aren't allowed to grow desensitised to the pain.

"Cas? Castiel!"

Dean's calling his name. Odd. Why does the hunter sound so distant? And why does Castiel's chest hurt as though he's short of breath? He doesn't need to breathe!

"Cas, talk to me!"

He's dimly aware of a hand closing around his upper arm, though he can't see the owner of the hand through his black-spotted vision. The whole world's swimming…his mouth is open, though he can't draw in air…he can feel his fingers digging into smooth skin, though his nerves aren't registering any pressure…

"Dean –" he wheezes, his voice barely intelligible. The person holding him moves away and he chases after them feebly, the loss of contact chillingly conspicuous now that nobody is holding him. "No – please – don't – alone – cold –"

"Cas…gotta breathe…"

A face appears in his hazy vision. Dean. It's Dean. But is it? Or is it Lucifer toying with him again? It has to be Lucifer because he's so cold…so cold…when had he started shivering?

"C-Cold," he manages to force out. "So cold…please – Lucifer –"

Alarm flashes across the false Dean's face and that's the only warning that Castiel gets before he is enveloped in tight, warm arms and his vision goes dark. Fighting against this cold comfort, he draws in a shaking breath and his nostrils are immediately assaulted with the overwhelmingly familiar scent of cheap alcohol and coffee and car oil and a musky, earthy smell…the scent of _Dean_.

Why can he smell Dean? Lucifer has never been able to mimic Dean's scent to _this_ degree of accuracy. It's how he was always able to cling to one tiny thread of sanity; the knowledge that, even in Castiel's own head, Lucifer could never replicate every single minute detail.

So he's not in his head, then. He's not possessed. Lucifer's gone. That's right. Amara tore Lucifer out of his body. This is real. _Dean_ is real.

"Dean," he chokes. Now that he's beginning to come back to himself, he's acutely aware of every point of contact between him and Dean; which is a lot, considering that Dean has wrapped himself so tightly around Castiel that he is literally Castiel's whole world at the moment.

"Shh." He becomes aware of Dean stroking his back comfortingly and he shivers and arches into the touch, his breath escaping him in sobs. "Just let it out, sweetheart."

Almost as though he had been waiting for permission, Castiel finally breaks down. Dean isn't wearing a shirt for Castiel to cling to and cry into, so the angel settles for digging his fingernails into the muscles of Dean's back as his tears moisten Dean's chest. While shame courses through him at his _human_ behaviour, he can't help but marvel at how much lighter he already feels just from breaking down and letting everything out in this way. He suspects that Dean's presence plays a large part in this; if he had lost control of himself in this way in front of Sam or even maternal Mary, he knows that he would not be able to look them in the eye for a while afterwards.

When Castiel's wrecked sobs finally die down to thick hiccups, heavy exhaustion begins to settle on his limbs. It's odd, he thinks absently, how something that requires next to no physical exertion can be so tiring, but he's already familiar with how closely physical and mental energy can be linked, so he supposes that it's not so surprising that his mental exhaustion is affecting him physically.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean murmurs. Castiel shudders and clings even tighter when he feels lips brush against his head.

"I – my apologies, Dean," he says hoarsely. Dean makes a small noise of disapproval.

"The hell are you apologising for? Not like you can help these things. I'm just glad you felt safe enough to break down around me instead of trying to run off and deal with it yourself."

When he begins to pull back, panic flares up inside Castiel. Is Dean going to leave him? Had Dean only stayed with him out of pity? It's really a miracle that Dean has even stuck with him for this long and he knows that he can't blame Dean for wanting to get away from having to care for a broken angel while he can.

"Hey, hey," Dean says soothingly when Castiel lets out an alarmed sound and clings to him so tightly that he might cave in on himself. "I'm not leavin' ya, Cas. Just wanna make sure you can breathe properly without suffocating against me."

Castiel forces himself to go limp, allows Dean to rearrange him so that he is still in Dean's arms but can gulp in air freely. He blinks and squints in the dim light of Dean's room but his eyes quickly adjust and, turning his head, he sees Dean regarding him with a worried little smile.

"I'm sorry. I made you anxious about me."

"Right, because I haven't driven you mad with worry before. You gotta learn, Cas. That's what I'm here for."

Castiel trembles when Dean begins to stroke his hair and he snuggles into Dean as much as possible, thirsty for any physical contact that he can get. Dean obliges him, tightening his embrace and pressing little kisses to Castiel's head as he continues to run his fingers through the angel's thick, dark hair.

"I made your chest wet."

"You did."

"I made you worry about me."

"Uh huh."

"I can't possibly comprehend why you would continue to burden yourself with me, a broken excuse for an angel."

He half expects Dean to get mad at his stubborn lack of self-confidence and snap at him – in fact, the masochistic, self-loathing part of him almost wishes for this, as if that would allow him to justify to himself what a worthless being he really is. He's both surprised and a little annoyed when Dean simply continues to kiss his head.

"Because I love you. Sounds simple enough to me."

"But…why?"

Dean just shrugs. Castiel expects Dean to start rattling off a list of all of his positive attributes, to which he will then shake his head and deny like clockwork, and he's startled when Dean simply laughs and says, "'Cause I do."

"I…" Castiel trails off, unsure of what he was even going to say in the first place. Dean smirks at him.

"That got you, didn't it? Too much like me for your own good, Cas. I can tell ya how awesome you are till I'm blue in the face and you'll still tell me I'm crazy. And hey, not every day a puny human like me catches an angel off guard."

A small, watery laugh escapes Castiel and he raises a hand to weakly smack Dean on the shoulder. He had been right in his earlier assessment: Dean always knows just what to say, and he loves the man so much for it.

"You are such an assbutt."

Dean grins down at him and swiftly kisses him on the lips. Castiel makes a small noise of disappointment when it ends far too quickly.

"Yeah but I'm _your_ assbutt."

They lapse into silence after that, Dean continuing to stroke Castiel's hair and hold him close while the angel closes his eyes and tries to settle into as calm a state as possible. He knows that Dean is eventually going to ask him about the episode he just had and he wants to be as relaxed as possible, just to avoid slipping into that state again. Sure enough, it only takes seven minutes and twenty eight seconds (by Castiel's count) before Dean draws in a deep breath and Castiel braces himself.

"You mentioned…Lucifer," Dean says carefully. "Were you – I mean – did you – y'know – think you were –?"

"Yes," Castiel says simply, his eyes still closed. "I thought that I was trapped in my mind with him again."

"Right." Dean lets out a shaky laugh. "Any idea what triggered it? Y'know, so I know how not to put my foot in it."

"It wasn't any fault of yours," Castiel hurries to assure him, his eyes opening. "I am just…unused to somebody having such strong feelings for me as you do. I panicked that this was all simply a ruse concocted by Lucifer. He often…"

Castiel trails off, because if he has to dwell on all of the horrific scenarios that Lucifer trapped him in (especially the ones with a loving Dean who showered him with attention, then turned cruel and abusive) then he might have another mental breakdown. Luckily, Dean understands.

"I'm so freaking sorry, man."

"Why are _you_ apologising? You had nothing to do with Lucifer's actions."

Dean laughs bitterly.

"Never did much to convince you that you were worth more than the dirt on my shoe, man. If I'd just freaking told you that you were more than a tool –"

"You can't dwell on 'what ifs', Dean. I said yes to Lucifer, so I must deal with the consequences."

"And I didn't treat you like a decent fucking human being."

"You're here for me now," Castiel whispers. "That's all that matters."

Dean hums his affirmation.

"Looked like it was a bad one," he says slowly, as though he's choosing his words with care. Castiel appreciates that Dean is careful but doesn't treat him like fragile glass, though at the same time he feels a small spark of irritation at the fact that Dean is treading carefully around him. It's actually funny how contradictory the human psyche can be – and while Cas is an angel, he's been human enough for long enough to be considered a human in terms of his mental state, if his messed up head is any indication.

"Yes. It was considerably worse than usual."

"Any idea why?"

"No. And I'd rather not talk about it anymore."

"Oh. Sorry."

Castiel's insides churn with guilt. Dean's only trying to help him, yet he jumps down the man's throat as though Dean is the one attacking him.

"No. Don't be. You're only trying to care for me. I'm just being hostile to you."

"Dude, you literally just had a massive panic attack. I'm not holdin' it against you."

Castiel sags in Dean's arms.

"You're too good to me," he mumbles.

"Only making up for lost time," Dean counters effortlessly. "But seriously, is it possible for me to see your wings?"

Castiel shrugs, just as Dean had done a moment ago.

"It's possible for me to bring them to this plane of existence. What I've displayed in the past was merely a shadow of them, intended to intimidate my foes. And impress you."

Dean snickers, clearly thinking back to their first meeting outside of Hell as Castiel is doing.

"But believe me, Dean, you don't want to see my wings."

"Why the hell not?"

Castiel takes a deep breath and forces himself not to look at the tattered and mangled limbs on the ethereal plane behind him or else he might throw up.

"They…are in less than ideal shape," he says in mournful shame. "It's true that I did not have them when the angels fell, so they have not been burned to charred crisps as the other angels' wings have. But I only have a portion of my grace back – the rest was used by Metatron to seal Heaven. My wings reflect my current state."

He laughs darkly.

"You would recoil in horror if you laid eyes on them, Dean. Believe me."

Dean just leans down to kiss him.

"I'll be the judge of that, angel. Now, c'mon. Bring 'em out."

Castiel pauses, wanting to drag it out so that he can delay the moment in which he will surely see utter disgust on Dean's face. But he knows that if there's anyone who isn't going to judge him, it's Dean. After all, the man has literally been through Hell; maybe the horrific sight of Castiel's wings won't deter him.

But eventually, he wriggles his way out of Dean's arms (his body protesting the lack of delicious warmth) and he kneels next to Dean, wishing that he isn't already naked from the waist up so that he can delay even further. He closes his eyes, then summons his grace and pushes it through his wings to bring them to a plane of existence in which Dean can perceive them. He knows the exact moment that Dean can see them, because the man lets out a soft gasp.

"Abominable, are they not?" Castiel says derisively. He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see the horror on Dean's face, and so he's taken by surprise and jumps when a soft hand touches one of his wings.

"You kidding me?" Dean says quietly. "They're awesome."

Castiel surprises himself with a harsh burst of laughter.

"Don't lie to me, Dean," he says, opening his eyes so that he can see his wings in all their broken glory. What feathers are left on them are dull and faded, rather than the shiny and glossy black that they used to be, and there are large bald patches scattered all over the limbs, revealing ugly pink flesh. This is the best approximation that a human mind can make of his wings, so this isn't even what they truly look like; in fact, they look far, far worse in their true form.

"Why would I lie to you?"

"To spare my feelings. I know that you find them hideous, Dean. Twisted. Crippled. They are a representation of my current state, so now you see just how weak and loathsome my true form is."

He shivers when Dean leans in and begins to press careful little kisses to his right wing, sending floods of sensation coursing from the points of contact.

"They might not be pretty," Dean says. Castiel's heart begins to sink. "But they're freaking awesome. _You're_ awesome. Y'know what I see? I see someone who's just tried to do the right thing and ended up getting screwed over. You're _badass_ , Cas. And yeah, it hurts to see 'em like this, but only 'cause I can't stand to see you hate yourself like this."

Castiel looks down so that he doesn't end up crying again; he doesn't know if his psyche can take that.

"Here, lie back." Dean guides Castiel so that the angel is lying on his stomach, battered wings spread. "Just relax."

Castiel begins to quiver when Dean leans in so that he can kiss along Castiel's shoulders and spine, raking his hands through the feathers at the same time to straighten them. The angel shudders violently when Dean's fingers trail over a sensitive spot.

"I – gland – at the base of the wings," Castiel gasps out. "Oil gland…for preening…but Dean –"

"Hmm?" Dean says, already reaching for Castiel's uropygial gland.

"Grooming an angel's wings – the trust and intimacy – Dean, are you sure you –?"

Dean bends down so that he can plant a kiss on Castiel's lips.

"Dude, I love you so much that it freaking scares me. I'd trust you to groom my wings if I had 'em. Do you…do you trust me?"

Joy begins to blossom inside Castiel at Dean's words.

"Yes," he sighs, closing his eyes and preparing for Dean's ministrations. "I trust you with my very existence, Dean. I simply wanted to make sure that you knew the implications."

Dean chuckles quietly and runs his hands down Castiel's back.

"Noted. Now shut up and lemme spoil you."

He presses down on the gland, causing sweet-smelling oil to gush out. Castiel jolts up into Dean's touch with a gasp.

"Oh…" he pants. The only other angel to ever groom his wings had been Samandriel, and his younger brother had not ever provoked this reaction in Castiel. He suspects that it's his profound bond with Dean; after all, he had loved Samandriel but they had just been comrades in the end. With Dean, it's so much more.

"Oh, I'm gonna have fun." Without even looking, Castiel can tell that Dean is smiling mischievously. "I always wondered if you had a wing kink."

Castiel laughs shakily.

"Thank you, Dean. For everything. I can never thank you enough for all you've done for me."

He closes his eyes with a smile and shivers when Dean kisses him on the back of the neck.

"You don't need to, angel. You never need to thank me."

That's the last thing that any of them say before Dean gets to work grooming Castiel's damaged wings. Castiel just melts into the bed and allows himself to get lost in the heavenly sensations of Dean's hands on his wings, thinking that maybe he really does deserve this. Maybe he really does deserve to have Dean take care of him.


End file.
